


cake by the ocean

by OpheliaDusk



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of past abuse, Porn with Feelings, no plot spoilers past the school trip, straddles the M/E line but just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaDusk/pseuds/OpheliaDusk
Summary: Everyone knows school trips are the prime time to sneak away from the chaperones and have some awkward teenage under-the-pants action. And for those not in a relationship, well, friends can mess around, right? Not like there are any feelings involved, no sir, just some good old-fashioned experimenting. Right?Or, how Mishima puking in a toilet inadvertently gets Ryuji laid.





	cake by the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I set out to write straightforward smut I remember I'm physically incapable of writing PWP, whoops. Here's some teens who are also incapable of doin the do without getting feelings involved.
> 
> Miiiiight maybe become part of a series, depending on how much inspiration I have and how hard I'm trying to procrastinate on other things.

“It could be worse!” Ann says, poking Ryuji in the side. 

“How?”

“It could be _you_ rubbing Mishima’s back while he horks in the toilet.”

Ryuji snorts and leans back in the chair, propping his arms up behind his head. When Mishima had run for the toilet, green as a frog, the two of them and Akira had shared a Look. The kind of Look that said: one of us has to sacrifice themselves so the other two can be saved. Akira had taken three coffee stirrers from the breakfast nook, broken one, and put all three in his fist. They’d all chosen, with absurd solemnity, and when Akira’s came up short, he’d clapped them both on the shoulder wordlessly and trudged off to his fate. Ryuji and Ann had tried to cover their ears and doze off, but eventually Ann had sat up straight and declared that _she_ was going to be the one puking soon, if she had to listen to this all night.

And so here they are, sitting in the lobby of the hotel at five minutes to one in the morning. Ann says as much, glancing at her phone. “We should probably get going…”

Makoto had walked by promptly at midnight, checking for stragglers out of their rooms past curfew. She’d turned a blind eye to them after seeing their hangdog expressions, but had warned them that the next patrol was due at one, and this time it was going to be one of the teachers. 

“Man, what was I just saying? This trip’s been a total bust so far, you think I wanna choose between my roommate doing the nasty and Mishima puking his guts out?”

“You think they’re still going?”

“Probably? I dunno. Let’s just take a walk or something. No way the teachers’ll bother leaving the hotel to check.”

He shoves himself to his feet, pushing off the arms of the wicker chair. Ann puts her phone back in her pocket and follows him out the door, closing her eyes briefly as the sea breeze wafts the scent of salt at her face. It’s cooler than during the daytime, but still warm enough that she feels comfortable in her shorts and tank top. Ryuji grins, looking up at the stars. 

“Yeah, this is way better. Race you to the water?”

He slaps her back teasingly before taking off in a jog down the winding path that leads to the beach. “Hey! No fair! You’re supposed to count down!”

He waves over his shoulder as he darts around a blind bend in the path, concealed by bushes and a gentle hill; Ann follows at a run, only to smack into his back as soon as she makes the turn, nearly bowling herself over. Ryuji reaches back automatically, and she grabs his arm to keep herself upright. “Aw, man, eff this…” the boy mutters, exasperation in every line of his body.

Rubbing her nose, Ann leans around him and sees why. There’s a low stone wall next to the path, and crouching against it are a pair of students, frantically disentangling their limbs. The girl runs past them first, covering her face with her hands, and then the boy, tugging at his pants and flashing Ryuji a cocky grin.

“It just ain’t fair!” Ryuji explodes, trudging down the remainder of the path. He stomps down to the ocean, the effect ruined slightly by his feet sliding this way and that on the sand. He kicks off his sneakers at the shoreline and steps into the water. “Couples are goddamn everywhere on this trip! My asshole roommate, those two chucklefucks. Even Akira said he wasn’t down to hang tomorrow, and I just _know_ it’s cause he’s planning on gettin’ some. And I ain’t even ever so much as _kissed_ someone!” He kicks at the waves to punctuate his shout, shoulders tense and hands shoved in his pockets.

Ann scowls, but still nudges her sandals off her feet and follows him down to the ocean. She marches into the water, watching the gentle waves lap at her ankles. 

“Man, now I’m all outta sorts,” Ryuji grumbles. When there’s no reply, he glances at her crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows. “You pissed too?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Are you pissed at _me_?” he sputters, and has his answer when she shrugs sharply. “C’mon, what’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Is too.”

She bites her lip, then puts her hands on her hips. “You have, you moron!”

“I’ve what?”

“Kissed someone!”

He gapes at her. Her cheeks are turning red, visible even in the dim moonlight. “When?”

“You know when!”

It comes to him suddenly. Second year of middle school. The day of the athletic festival. A classmate had brought in boxes of pocky to share, and a giggling girl with her eye on the soccer team captain had shyly suggested the pocky game. Ryuji never backed down from a challenge, and he had won three rounds in a row against more timid classmates before he was challenged by Ann. Immovable object met unstoppable force, and the watching crowd of girls had squealed in shock at their boldness.

“That— that doesn’t count!”

“It counts!” Ann tosses her hair and turns to the side, balling her hands into fists. 

“You bit me!”

“I was _going_ for the _candy_!” she shouts, her lofty intentions of archly ignoring him ruined as she whirls back around to glare at him. 

“My lip was bruised for like a week! I had to tell my mom I got punched!”

The warm summer air crackles between them as they glare at each other.

Ryuji breaks first, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, if it’s that important to you, fine. Pretty shitty first kiss, though.” He risks a look at her; she still looks annoyed, but when he adds “At least we had a cheering squad,” he sees her crack a small smile, quickly forced down. 

They look out over the ocean in silence, Ryuji kicking at the waves, wondering at how he always ends up walking into a minefield where Ann is involved. She gets riled like nobody he’s ever met, and when he teases her, he’s never quite sure if he’s going to get a witty comeback or a scowl. Something about her makes him a little too clumsy, a little too loud. 

A couple of months before the athletic festival, when Ann was still the exotic new girl who got asked if she could use chopsticks or read kanji, Ryuji had run into her at the convenience store in his neighborhood. He usually stopped there for an aimless hour or two after track practice, putting off evenings of dodging thrown beer bottles by buying cheap snacks and loitering by the magazines, and at first, he couldn’t believe his luck. Just yesterday, he’d been shooting the shit with his track buddies, wondering if foreign girls ever went for Japanese guys and if any of them had a chance, and now here his chance was, staring him in the face. Or, rather, standing in the hair care aisle, staring at the box dyes. And her shoulders were kinda hunched, too. And she was fiddling with the hem of her uniform top uncertainly.

He’d lost a bit of bravado with each step, and by the time he made it over to his clearly upset classmate, the cool pickup lines he’d practiced with his buddies had devolved into a “Hey. Uh. Whatcha doin’?”

Ann had shot him a look so defensive, so suspicious, that he’d wanted to retroactively smack himself for laughing at the lewd jokes he’d heard his teammates make. “I’m dying my hair.”

“Oh.” He looked at the wall of unfamiliar products, then back at her. “Why?”

She scowled, snatching a box of dark brown dye seemingly at random. “I’m mostly Japanese, so I might as well look it. Maybe then—“ She bit her tongue, tightening her grip on the box.

“Man, don’t…” Ryuji rubbed the back of his neck. “People are kinda shitty. Doesn’t mean you got anything you gotta fix.”

She’d shot him a disbelieving look; he’d raked his eyes down the wall and snatched a box of blonde dye with a grin, saying he’d race her to the counter. Maybe if he’d used it then, they would have become closer that much sooner; instead, he’d shoved the box deep in his closet to hide it from his father, and forgotten about it. Ann had been in a different class in high school, and it was hard to go against a whole team of his friends; that was just how guys talked, right? It wasn’t until he was laid up in bed with a cast and a pile of self-loathing that he’d remembered an old box of women’s hair dye and a girl with fire in her eyes, and dragged himself down the hall on his crutches to stick his head under the tap and really give them something to talk about.

Back in the present, he shifts his weight, pulling his feet out of the sucking sand. He’s getting antsy at Ann’s continued silence, and would walk further out into the ocean just for an excuse to move his limbs, except he thinks he heard once that shark attacks mostly happen in less than three feet of water, and that would be just the thing to cap off this waste of a trip.

Finally she sighs, some of the tension going out of her shoulders. “Sorry for going off on you like that. It’s just… you know. Better you be my first, than… you know.”

He grimaces at the thought of Kamoshida putting his hands on Ann. He’s never asked, because it isn’t any of his damn business and the guy’s a shitheel who’s better forgotten anyway, and he feels something unpleasant slither in his stomach at the confirmation that he’d laid his hands on her at all, even if it was a single stolen kiss. 

He plasters a cocky grin on his face and flashes a thumbs up, trying to cheer her up by playing the fool, even a little bit. Better that she slaps him than look so downhearted. “Eh, no prob. Biting’s some next-level shit for middle school, anyway! Guess I really got lucky after all.”

It works; she smacks him gently on the shoulder and laughs. Except that she doesn’t draw her hand away; instead, she runs it down his arm uncertainly. It’s resting on his bicep now, and he looks at her askance, wondering if he’s about to get shoved into the water.

“I mean, if it really sucked that bad… we could always have a do-over.”

He gapes at her.

“Wait. Really? For real? Are you—“

“I’m not confessing to you or anything!” she says, shaking her head, pigtails bouncing from side to side vehemently. “I’m just saying. I mean, you’re right. Everyone else is getting some. This is our one and only school trip, so… why not make it count?”

He feels an instant of slight disappointment he can’t quite get a handle on, but it’s quickly shoved away by the reality of the situation. No matter how he and Ann might squabble, she’s been there, curves and long legs and delicate lips, from the time he first stared nervously over the precipice of puberty. Now here she is, hand on his arm, looking up at him with a mixture of boldness and uncertainty that tugs at something in his chest.

“You sure?” he says hoarsely, impulsively catching her right hand with his left. “I mean, I’m down. I’m down as hell. Just makin’ sure you’re a hundred percent—“

“Shut up and kiss me, Ryuji.”

He does. Her lips are warm and yielding under his; he slides his right hand onto the small of her back as she tilts her head slightly and leans into him. Her hand slides back up his arm to cup the back of his neck, and as she runs her fingers through the short hair at his nape, a tingle shoots down his spine to nest firmly in his pelvis. 

Her hair smells like citrus.

Even when she pulls away, she remains close enough for him to see the stars reflected in her wide, dark pupils. 

“Whoa,” he breathes, and then, “You’ve gotten _way_ better.”

Ann smiles and steps back, tugging on the hand she’s still holding. He follows her out of the water and down the beach, without asking where she’s going. Right now, he’d follow her to Antarctica without even grabbing a jacket. 

She casts her eye around the beach; the main problem with pristine white-sand beaches, as she sees it now, is there’s just no _privacy_. There’s a pool just by the hotel, though, and that’s where she leads him, pushing him to sit down behind a decorative rock formation that at least shields them from any late-night vacationers walking down the road. 

He sits without resistance, looking at her awed and hypnotized as she climbs into his lap, curling her legs up, taking his face in her hands. She kisses him again, and he enfolds her in his arms, molding his body to hers. Unable to resist the small wild thrill in her chest, she parts her lips and bites down gently on his bottom lip, and is rewarded with a throaty groan. 

“Middle school me didn’t know how good he had it,” Ryuji mutters as she pulls away. She laughs, but her laughter dies as their eyes meet; there’s something there, something she doesn’t quite want to confront, at least not now. Later, maybe, much later; right now she just wants to enjoy being able to melt him like chocolate on her tongue. There are years of pent-up _something_ between them, that much she knows, but for now there’s a moonlit night, and solitude, and a warm breeze.

“We can stop, if you want,” Ryuji says uncertainly after the silence between them stretches to uncomfortable proportions. Ann shakes her head firmly, and Ryuji’s eyes widen as she swings one leg over to straddle him.

“I can’t believe you’re letting a girl top you like this,” she teases; and then, more seriously, “I’ll tell you if I want to stop, so… don’t hold back, okay?”

He reaches up, and at first she thinks he’s going to cup her face in his hands; instead, he undoes first one hair tie, then the other, letting her hair cascade down around her shoulders like a mermaid’s. He buries his hands in it, and only then does he pull her face down to his.

Her lips part, and his open eagerly to match. He’s more insistent now, running his hands through her hair, probing her mouth with his tongue, and she’s overwhelmed by the sheer sensation of it, of being this close to someone and yet wanting to be even closer, of wanting to feel skin on skin and his hands on every inch of her. 

She’d worried she’d never want someone’s hands on her again. 

It hadn’t been much, by anyone’s account— a covert hand on her backside, a falsely playful threat that he wouldn’t unlock his car door without a kiss. But it had been enough to make her feel ruined, and enough to make her feel victorious now, banishing his shadow with the electricity coursing through her skin, Ryuji’s hands igniting a corona of sparks wherever they touch. It seems inevitable now that it would come to this, her boorish, brash, mischievous ally becoming…

…well. Becoming whatever he is.

Ann’s fingers drift downward and under the hem of his shirt, running up his toned abdomen, slick with sweat from the heat. He pulls away briefly, breathing heavily, and then his mouth is on her neck, kissing hotly and urgently down to her collarbone. She can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest like a jackhammer and feels giddily drunk on her own power, although she’s sure hers is beating just as fast. She scrapes her fingernails down his chest lightly and is rewarded with a groan and an erratic buck of his hips.

“S-sorry,” he mutters, pulling back slightly; in response, she peeks up over the rock formation he’s half-leaning against, and, seeing that there’s still nobody in their vicinity, reaches up under her shirt and unhooks her bra.

Ryuji’s eyes bulge as he tries to keep track of the feminine mystique happening in front of him. Straps keep appearing and disappearing, and then Ann, still wearing her tank top, is dangling her (black, lacy) bra from one hand with a grin. It’s the best magic trick Ryuji has ever seen, and when he stutters out something to that effect, she grins even wider before nuzzling into his neck and biting it gently. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt, and he’s about to tell her that when she purposefully grinds her hips into his and he lets out a strangled yelp. 

“Sssh!” she hisses, and he freezes like a statue. The longest twenty seconds of his life pass. He swears he can feel his pulse beating in his crotch, which would make sense, considering about half the blood in his body is down there by now. Nobody comes out to investigate the noise, and Ann sighs.

“Wish America had love hotels,” she grumbles, and his whole body shivers at the implication. 

He reaches up with one hand, cupping her cheek and running a thumb over her mouth. Her hair falls loose in tangled waves, making her look like some kind of ethereal, half-wild creature; her lips are swollen, her cheeks rosy. “Ann,” he says, urgently. “Ann, I think I—“

She cuts him off with another kiss and another rock of her hips, and whatever he was about to say is driven out of his mind. Belatedly, he remembers the bra, abandoned on the ground, and runs his other hand along the sliver of exposed skin between her tank top and shorts before slowly slipping it under her shirt. She hums in approval and arches her back as he runs his thumb over her nipple, and her obvious enjoyment emboldens him enough to take his other hand and lift the hem of her shirt up over her full breasts.

Ryuji pulls away from kissing her to stare for a long moment; she’s breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling in a mesmerizing way, the moonlight shining on her pale skin. He wonders if this is what it feels like to be drunk. He wonders if anyone, ever, in the history of mankind, has ever felt like this before.

He leans down and takes her nipple in his mouth; she lets out a fluttering sigh, running her fingers through his hair, arching her back into him. He runs his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks as he flicks his tongue out, tasting the salt on her skin. He wants to taste every inch of her, to undo her as she’s undoing him, to—

Reluctantly, with great effort, Ryuji pulls away. He rests his forehead against Ann’s, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” he says. She kisses him briefly, pressing closer, but he pulls away, bringing his hands up to hold her face still. She’s breathing erratically, and their mouths are close enough he can taste her on his own ragged breath. “Hey. No, hold on. Look…” He’s never been good with words, and he’s distracted, and unbearably hard, but he has to say this straight out, has to be absolutely clear. “Ann, I gotta stop, or I gotta keep going. Okay? You get me?”

She closes her eyes, steadying her breath. This was never how she’d imagined it. In the open, practically in public, whatever feelings she has all tangled up in her throat like a fishbone, impossible to dislodge but equally impossible to swallow down. She’d always kind of pictured a fancy hotel room, maybe with flower petals strewn on the sheets, some rose-scented candles. Preparation. A special occasion.

On the other hand, beaches are pretty romantic. And…

“I want it to be you,” she says simply, opening her eyes. 

Ryuji needs no further encouragement, his hands immediately diving down to her waist, fumbling with the button of her shorts. His mouth is hot on her neck again, his teeth scraping on her collarbone as she shifts her weight to her knees, giving him easier access to slip his hand inside her panties. His finger slips easily inside her, as wet as she is, but it’s not nearly enough; she matches his eagerness, unzipping his cargo shorts and tugging them down over his hips, desperate for more. 

“ _Fuck_ , Ann,” he gasps as she palms the bulge in his boxers. She scoots back off of him for just long enough to shimmy her shorts and underwear down off her legs. He starts to follow, tugging at his boxers, pushing himself up onto his knees, but she shoves at his shoulders, sitting him back down. His erection is free, rising from the dark thatch of hair at its base, and Ann is struck with a sudden trepidation as she stares. 

There really won’t be any going back from this. Making out and groping are one thing, but is she sure? A hundred percent sure? Or is she just being caught up in a tide of sensation, of teenage frustration and fire in her belly? One way or another, she’s going to have to be able to look Ryuji in the face tomorrow, and every day after that.

She looks at his face now, the moonlight illuminating his bright hair and stubborn jaw. His lips are slightly parted, and he’s looking at her with an expression equal parts tender and awe-struck, a softer look than she’s ever seen him wear. His hands are on her hips, but lightly, even though she can feel his urgent need in the way they tremble, and it’s that tremble that decides for her.

She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his as she lowers herself onto him. 

There’s pain, but not as much as she expected; Ryuji’s hands, so gentle a moment before, clutch wildly at her hips, digging into the soft flesh there as he lets out a low hiss. It’s a closeness so exquisite it’s almost unbearable, and as he starts to thrust upward into her, she squeezes her arms tighter, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She can hear herself letting out small moans against his skin as they find a rhythm; Ryuji is loud as always, letting out a constant stream of profanity, muffled by her hair, as he runs his hands over every part of her he can reach. 

There’s a fizzing in her abdomen, like a shaken soda bottle being slowly uncapped, and she arches her back as he hits a spot that sends fire arcing along every nerve in her body. His rhythm is getting erratic, and his volume louder; as he starts to moan her name, she covers his mouth with hers, thrusts her tongue in between his lips, and muffles her own voice as she cries out, clenching around him with a toe-curling, whole-body shudder. 

Through the haze, she realizes he’s pulled out of her, thrusting against her thighs; it’s barely any time at all before he clenches his eyes shut and comes hard, gasping, painting the both of them with the warm, sticky fluid.

They clean themselves off in the ocean, running half-naked down the beach, Ryuji tripping once when he catches his foot in a pile of seaweed. Ann laughs, but doesn’t stop until she reaches the ocean, tossing her shorts and flannel aside as she falls to her knees in the water.

“Hey, hey! No leaving a man behind!” Ryuji grumbles without malice, nearly tripping again as he shoves his shorts off, tangling his legs in them. He runs in further than her, diving under the water briefly, slicking his hair back as he emerges. Ann watches him, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head, but when he meets her eyes, she glances away, suddenly shy. 

He makes his way over to her, hitting the side of his head and muttering about water in his ear. “Ann,” he says uncertainly, and she looks back at him, immediately feeling guilty about the way he raises his hand to her shoulder but stops halfway, leaving it hanging in the air. “Hey. Uh. If you like, wanna leave Hawaii in Hawaii, or whatever, I’ll go with it. I mean, if you want. But…”

He trails off, and she reaches up and takes his hand, still hovering. “Yeah?” he says, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

She squeezes his hand, but something catches her eye before she can find the words to respond, and she turns her head to the right.

She sees her sandal, bobbing merrily on a gentle wave.

“The tide!” she yelps, “Ryuji, our shoes!”

“Shit!”

They don’t finish their conversation, not then, and not later. But when they walk back up the beach to the hotel, damp and sandy, Ryuji shifts both sopping wet sneakers into one hand so he can hold Ann’s with the other, and she doesn’t pull away.


End file.
